Descending rapidly, he told his master he was now sure of the direction in which they should go, and before seven o'clock they had begun again their painful march.

Tom had to stop frequently to rest. The gnawing pains of hunger told more seriously upon him than upon the Muhima, for his life for the past three weeks had been more than hard, making unaccustomed demands upon his strength. He still felt the effects of his wound. They found a few berries and edible roots, and if such supplies, meagre as they were, continued, Tom hoped to stave off actual starvation.

"Surely we shall come to a native village by and by," he said hopefully.

"Even the pigmies might take pity on starving men."

But Mbutu shook his head; he had no faith in the compa.s.sion or generosity of pigmies; he knew of them only as dangerous foes. In the afternoon they reached a spot where the ground began to slope downwards, and the vegetation appeared still thicker and more entangled.

"Coming to ribber, sah," said Mbutu eagerly. "Perhaps huts; perhaps catch fish."

Fifteen minutes later, in truth, they came suddenly to the brink of a river, through a hedge of creeping-plants covering every inch of ground from the water's edge to the green-black forest behind. The current was fairly strong, and the water was tea-coloured, suggesting iron in solution, swirling with dingy froth around a few boulders that stood out above the surface here and there. Mbutu, scanning the opposite bank, uttered a cry of joy. The stream was some fifty yards wide, and on the other side there was a narrow rift in the vegetation, so narrow indeed that Tom did not discern it until it was pointed out to him.

"Path, sah!" said Mbutu. "'Spect huts ober dar. Huts, food. Plenty food, oh yes!"

They sat down for a few moments to rest on a rock at the edge of the stream, gazing in silence at the gurgling water. Suddenly Mbutu twitched his master's sleeve and pointed to the farther bank. Just emerging from the leafy hedge, through the narrow opening, was a diminutive and graceful little woman, copper-coloured, with raven-black hair, a broad round face, and full l.u.s.trous eyes. Three iron rings were coiled spiral-shaped about her neck. She was crooning happily to a tiny brown child toddling by her side, and on her head a small pitcher was cleverly balanced. She came down to the water's edge and stooped to fill her pitcher, still chanting softly a quaint song that Tom thought wonderfully pretty. Her boy leant over the water in comical mimicry of his mother.

"Bambute woman, sah," whispered Mbutu.

Low as the words were uttered, the channel between the high banks acted as a sound-board, and the sharp ears of the little woman heard them.

She looked up, gave a startled cry, and stepped back. At the same instant the tiny fellow, alarmed by his mother's cry, lost his balance and toppled over into the water. The stream there was deep, flowing in strong and steady current. For one brief moment the mother seemed dazed, and Tom looked at the little brown bundle floating down stream as at some picture, not an actual thing at all. Then the woman screamed, dropped her pitcher, and forced her way along the bank, wringing her hands and moaning pitifully as she saw the stream bearing her little son away.

"She can't swim!" cried Tom, realizing the situation.

He sprang up, leapt on to the first boulder, then to the second two yards from it to the left, and took a header into deep water.

Excitement lent him strength; he forgot where he was, forgot all his late sufferings, forgot the danger of chill and crocodiles; all that he saw was the drowning child, all that he thought of was his duty to save it. He struck out energetically, the current a.s.sisting him. As yet the stream had borne the child along upon its surface, but just as Tom arrived within a dozen yards of him he sank, and the mother's heart-broken cry echoed from the forest. Tom quickened his stroke, and, gathering his breath, dived just beyond the spot where he had last seen the brown body. It was difficult to make out anything in the tan-coloured water, but he fancied he saw the little black head, threw out his right hand, caught a foot, and in a few seconds was safe at the surface again, the boy in his grasp.

By this time Mbutu had reached his master's side. He relieved him of the burden, and together they swam to the sh.o.r.e, where Tom turned the pigmy urchin on his face and slapped his back and worked his arms about till the little fellow recovered his breath. A l.u.s.ty cry soon proclaimed that there was vigorous life in the tiny body. Then they carried him with some difficulty along the steep bank to the path by which he had come from the forest. They caught sight of his mother darting like a timid gazelle among the trees. Mbutu at Tom's command called to her to come and fetch her pickin, using all the dialects he knew; she stopped and faced the strangers again, but evidently understood nothing of what the Muhima said, and was too much scared to approach them. In spite of his exhaustion, Tom could not help smiling at the woman's fears.

"Put the little beggar down," he said, "and see him run."

"Want food, sah," expostulated Mbutu; "woman gib food."

"But she wants her baby first; perhaps she thinks we are cannibals, and mean to make a meal of both of them."

Mbutu shrugged, and set the boy, now fully recovered and crying l.u.s.tily, upon his feet. Instantly he scampered off with wild delight to his mother. She s.n.a.t.c.hed him up, smothered him with kisses, then threw him over her back and ran fleetly into the forest. In vain Mbutu called to her to bring food, shouting that the big white man would give his b.u.t.tons, his coat, anything, for a chicken and some plantains. His voice only made her run the faster, and soon a turn in the narrow path concealed her altogether from view.

"We'd better go along the path after her," said Tom. "There must be a pigmy village somewhere near, and they're surely human enough to give us food."

Mbutu shook his head.

"Bambute much bad people," he said. "See white man; no fink; shoot one, two, three; sah dead."

"But we saved the youngster."

"Bambute no stop fink. Woman say big sah, berrah big; Bambute no wait; all come in one big hurry, shoot sah. Better go away too quick."

"Well, you ought to know them better than I." (He suddenly, in one of those odd flashes of memory that come at the most unlikely moments, remembered Mr. Barkworth's positive statement: "There's no grat.i.tude in these natives!") "Let us go, then; lead the way."

They scrambled along the bank, stumbling over rocks and projecting thorn-sprays, Mbutu urging his master to hurry, lest the whole pigmy village should come hot-foot at their heels. It seemed strange to Tom that the little people should feel animosity against inoffensive travellers who had actually done them a service, but he relied upon his boy, in whom he had seen no signs of cowardice. The fact was that Mbutu had never before actually come into contact with the pigmies, and knew them only by hearsay. He had a child's dread of the unknown, and the stories he had heard prompted him to keep as far as possible out of harm's way.

Tom's exertions, acting on his enfeebled frame, had worn him out, and but for Mbutu's entreaties he would have refused to budge. His clothes were drying in the sunlight, but he was chilled to the bone, and terribly hungry. Mbutu insisted that they ought to hide their trail by wading in the stream where it was shallow enough, and thus, alternately on land and in water, they covered rather more than three miles. Then Tom declared that he could go no farther, and sat down upon a dry rock to rest, while Mbutu scrambled up the bank and into the forest in search of food. He brought back a handful of papaws and amoma fruits.

"Why, this is quite luxurious!" said Tom, delighted at getting a change from the disagreeable roots on which he had subsisted for the past few days.

"Sah wait bit," said Mbutu with a knowing smile. He waded out to a large rock in mid-stream, threw himself flat upon it, and peered over into the water. A few moments pa.s.sed; then Tom saw the boy's knife flash as he plunged his arm into the water. He drew it up, and there was a fine fish, somewhat resembling a trout, gleaming on the point. He looked round triumphantly at Tom; then bent once more over the water, and soon speared another fish in the same way. When he had caught four he returned to the bank, and asked his master for the box of matches.

"Why, they're soaked; absolutely useless, Mbutu. You'll have to make fire some other way."

Mbutu at once cut a small block of hard wood from a tree, and scooped out a little hollow in it. Then he found a thin straight switch, and sharpened it at one end. He inserted this in the hollow of the block, and began to twirl it round rapidly in both hands. He was out of practice, and looked rather blue when no fire came; but, persevering, he succeeded after some minutes in kindling a spark. He then lit a fire, slit and cleaned the fish, and had the delight of offering his master some appetizing broiled fish-steaks. Not content with this, he returned to the rock, rapidly captured half a dozen more fish, and then, throwing on to the fire the leaves of plants that made a thick smoke, he attempted a rough-and-ready process of dry-curing. This done, he searched about till he found a thin and flexible tendril, on which he strung the dried fish, declaring gleefully that his master would certainly have a good breakfast next day.

There being still two hours or more of daylight left, as they judged by the position of the sun, they walked on again, feeling refreshed in body, and more cheerful in mind than they had been for a week. They still clung to the edge of the stream, and at one point narrowly escaped treading on a crocodile basking by the bank, where it was indistinguishable from a log of wood. Mbutu was only warned of the danger by a sudden startling flash of light. Jumping back, he pointed out that the glare was the reflection of the sun in the saurian's greedy eye. By and by they came to a tributary flowing into the river on the right hand. It was a fairly large stream, about thirty yards broad at the point of ingress, and as its course was from the south-east, Tom decided to turn and follow it up. While tramping below the left bank, which was high and steep, and finding the walking rather easier than it had been hitherto, the ground being rocky, they came to a deep inlet, at the bottom of which there was a cavern; half-hidden by vine-sprays trailing over the bank.

"The very place for our night's rest," said Tom.

They entered, strewed leaves and gra.s.s on the smooth dry floor, and slept soundly till daybreak. Though his limbs ached when he rose, and he was still feverish, Tom felt better than on the previous day, and ate heartily of the broiled fish and roots which Mbutu had prepared for him.

Then, leaving the cave, they walked for about half a mile, and found that the stream bent suddenly round to the left. Mbutu climbed a tree, and told his master that he could see the water for some distance, forming a loop and winding away towards the north. Arabs would certainly be ranging the country in that direction; there was nothing for it but to strike into the forest again, and pursue their journey to the south or south-west.

Tom was not rea.s.sured by the aspect of the forest. While there was less of tangled undergrowth and thorn, the trees appeared to be thicker and larger than ever. There was no sign of edible plants, but the animals were even more numerous, and the insects more mult.i.tudinous and irritating. As they crossed a babbling rivulet, apparently a tributary of the stream they had recently left, they were met by a cloud of moths reaching from the water's face to the loftiest tree-tops, and looking, as it approached, like a glittering shower of lavender-coloured snow, the particles whirling about in the slight gusts that blew along the course of the streamlet. Farther on, a dozen tree stems, thrown down during a recent storm, lay across one another at various angles, completely blocking the way, and the travellers found that the easiest mode of proceeding was to clamber up one of them that sloped at an angle of forty-five degrees, and to scramble thence on to another, and then to another sloping downwards, until they reached terra firma again. Their progress was terribly slow and arduous, and long before the mid-day heat rendered rest imperative, Tom felt thoroughly exhausted. His clothes were now a miscellany of rags, his boots mere gaps. He noticed what appeared to be ulcers breaking out upon his arms, and found that the exertion of walking and climbing made him faint, and produced a keen pain in his chest. He had had nothing to eat since the last of Mbutu's fish was consumed, and with the faintness and hunger came inevitable dejection of mind.

While he rested on a log, Mbutu went off alone to search again for food, but could find nothing but a few withered berries and some fungi, which, suspicious as they were, Tom was fain to swallow.

"We must try again," he said presently. "I am beginning to think it would have been better to follow the stream and chance the Arabs. I can't keep up much longer, Mbutu."

The Muhima was speechless, though his eyes eloquently expressed his anxiety and affection. Before they resumed their journey he cut his master another stout staff from a sapling of hard wood, the first having been lost in the stream. After struggling through the forest for about an hour, every step more painful to Tom, they came suddenly upon an unexpected scene of desolation. It was a wide clearing, on which a village of considerable dimensions had at one time stood; the blackened ground told a tale of burning and rapine. Beyond it there were whole groves of banana-trees scorched and ruined, hundreds of palms lying prostrate, and acres of ground, once cultivated, now denuded of every vestige of life. Near a heap of ashes lay a number of charred bones, and Tom shuddered as he pa.s.sed on.

Beyond this area of destruction the forest was less dense, and Mbutu by and by discovered a narrow track which he declared was the pathway of pigmies. He looked round apprehensively, fearing every moment lest swift arrows from unseen bows in the brushwood should put a sudden end to their lives. Once he exclaimed that he heard the clash of spears amid the foliage, but Tom a.s.sured him it must be simply the rustling of stiff leaves. As the evening shades were falling, the boy a.s.serted positively that he saw little faces peering at him from the trees, and Tom, with a weary sigh, answered:

"I do not care, Mbutu. Elves or sprites or human beings, they don't concern us unless they bring us food. Perhaps the pigmies have been shadowing us all the way since we saved that boy; why should they wish to hurt us? If you see one again, call to him. Call now; perhaps there is a settlement near; we might miss many in this wild forest."

Mbutu plucked up courage to call, but the only answer was a manifold echo from the trees, the squawk of parrots, and what sounded like the barking laugh of the hyena. Tom could walk no farther; he felt that he would fain rest for ever. On this night Mbutu built up a small hut of leaves and twigs for his master, and lit a watch-fire to scare, away wild intruders. For supper they gnawed some leaves, but Tom fell into the sleep of exhaustion in the middle of his scanty meal, and Mbutu sat for hours watching him uneasily. He, too, was at last overcome by fatigue, but not until he had thoughtfully heaped enough fuel on the fire to last until dawn. Tom woke first. He rose feebly and staggered oat of the hut, his forehead hot, his hands clammy; and there, between the still burning fire and his rough shelter, was a huge bunch of plantains! He could scarcely believe his eyes. He called Mbutu, but the boy did not stir. He went to him and shook him.

"Where did you get them?" he asked. "Have you eaten some yourself?"

Mbutu sprang up and stared, not understanding what his master meant, and believing that he must be light-headed. When Tom pointed to the plantains, the boy gave a gasp and looked up in the trees and all around in amazement. Without another word both began to eat ravenously, and not till they had nearly finished the bunch did Mbutu suggest an explanation of the G.o.dsend. The spirits of his ancestors, he said, must have been watching over him, or perhaps the Great Spirit of whom he had heard the White Father speak, and who really did seem to care for the black man and white man alike, as the missionary had averred. Tom let the boy talk on. Suddenly a hare-shaped animal darted across the ground in front of them; there was a whirring sound; the animal fell, a short arrow piercing it to the heart. Mbutu sprang up, and ran towards it; then started back, and looked about him with wide scared eyes. Nothing happened; the skilful marksman did not appear to claim his prize; the morning stillness was not broken by so much as a rustling leaf. Mbutu again moved towards the animal, treading delicately, and stopping at every second step to glance fearfully around. He seized the animal, and ran back swiftly with it.

"Bambute, sah!" he whispered, in a tone of awe. "Sah him friends. Sah sabe pickin; Bambute much glad. Oh yes! no want food no more; Bambute gib food."

Again Tom seemed to hear Mr. Barkworth's voice: "There's no grat.i.tude in these natives! I know them." He wondered whether the fact was as Mbutu had surmised; whether the woman had brought her people to see the white man; whether they had dogged the travellers all the way, or had come upon them by accident. Mbutu was already skinning the animal, and preparing it for the fire. Never was flesh more welcome to starving men. Refreshed and strengthened, Tom rose with renewed hope to continue his march.

But next day the old dejection returned. Of the pigmies there was no sign; no heaven-sent food was placed at their feet; they trudged on and on, almost blindly, always hungry. So four days pa.s.sed, days upon which Tom could never look back without a shudder of horror. Stories of prisoners starving in barred dungeons recurred to his mind; and he wondered which was worse, slowly to pine away in confinement, within bare stone walls that invited death, or to die in the midst of vigorous life, with liberty to range immense s.p.a.ces. "Death is only death after all," he thought, and he remembered Gordon's words, quoted by Mr.

Barkworth: "Heaven is as near the hot desert as the cool church at home". But his mind revolted against death. "I am young--young!" his heart cried. "I want to live, to do things. I am not a broken horse or a rusty engine. No, Tom Burnaby, I'll never forgive you if you chuck it all up yet." And he braced himself and plodded on.

Just after noon, on the fifth day after the pigmies' present, the travellers found that the forest was thinning somewhat; the trees were farther apart, and there was a renewal of the low bush, not so dense or so obstructive as it had been for the past few days. Presently they came to an almost open glade, and Mbutu pointed to a track crossing the direction of their march from clump to clump. It was not four hours old, he declared; the footprints were still soft and clearly marked.

They were too large to have been made by pigmies. The weary travellers sat down on a heap of leaves, hastily collected, to talk the matter over, Mbutu being in favour of going in the same direction as the footprints, which must lead, sooner or later, to a village. Suddenly they heard a rapid thud-thud as of heavy footsteps on the sodden ground, accompanied by a curious clanking, suggesting to Tom the sound of a loose horseshoe on a turfy moor. As they were wondering what it might be, a tall black figure, scantily clad, ran out of the forest on their right, labouring heavily, the sweat rolling off his face and body, his eyes protruding with eagerness and fear. Tom had just noticed that part of a chain, with a broken block of wood attached to it, hung from a gyve on the man's left ankle, and another chain from an iron circlet about his left wrist, when three Arabs and a negro came out of the wood at short intervals in hot pursuit.

Tom and Mbutu were partially concealed from the strangers by the straggling bush. Pursued and pursuers had almost crossed the wide open s.p.a.ce, the foremost Arab but a yard behind, when the fettered negro stopped short suddenly, turned round, and with a desperate movement of his left arm struck the Arab full in the face with the dangling chain.

The Arab dropped, and the hunted man turned again to flee, but the rest were almost upon him. Tom saw that, enc.u.mbered as the negro was, he must inevitably be run down in a few moments. Instinctively taking the weaker side, and forgetting his own exhaustion, he sprang up, and sprinting with all the speed of which his tired limbs were capable, he dashed after the pursuers, followed closely by Mbutu. The chase had evidently been a long one; hunters and hunted were breathless, and trod heavily. In the excitement of the moment Tom dashed along at a speed of which a minute earlier he would have thought himself utterly incapable; and he soon saw that he was gaining rapidly on the Arabs. They had muskets, which he inferred they had already fired, and had had no time to reload. He had his staff, and Mbutu clutched his knife.

The foremost of the two remaining Arabs and the negro were closing on the fugitive when Tom overtook the second Arab. He, hearing the thud of rapid footsteps immediately behind, checked his pace, and gave a startled glance backwards. Instantly Tom's fist was flung out, and the Arab, receiving the full force of the blow between the eyes, spun round, and rolled over and over. Mbutu, as he shot by, s.n.a.t.c.hed at his falling musket, and making upon the pursuing negro, thrust it between his legs, so that he was tripped up and fell heavily. He clutched at Mbutu to save himself, and both reached the ground together. There was a short, sharp struggle; Mbutu wriggled out of the big man's grip, and drove his knife through his heart.